


Shadow Royalty

by ko_drabbles



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Anxiety, Atelophobia, Child Abuse, Closeted Character, Drabble Collection, Eating Disorders, First Kiss, Illnesses, Kid Fic, M/M, One Shot Collection, Romance, Shadow Kids Being Dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_drabbles/pseuds/ko_drabbles
Summary: A collection of Umehito x Kyouya one-shots.1. Atelophobia - angst, eating disorder, child abuse, Atelophobia, anxiety.2. Spider Silk - eating disorder, child abuse mention, recovery3. Woollen Jumpers - kid fic, first kiss, illness (It's cute, I swear!)





	1. Atelophobia

He's always concerned about him. Always. He doesn't understand how no one else notices, not even Suoh.

Still, he supposes he's closer to the raven-haired boy that the rest. They know each other intimately, after all; both in hurried, desperate touches lit by candle light, and whispered conversations that another soul will never hear. He knows the sacrifices he makes for his ideal, for his perfection.

He's so perfect, he's flawed.

He knows about how, despite having a taste for salted caramels and spiced toffees, he resisted because he'd always been told how fat, imperfect and disgusting they'd make him; poisonous thoughts fed into a mind all too willing to listen. He knows that he can feel ribs as he runs his fingers along the boy's sides, how his weight swings between the smaller side of healthy and underweight.

He remembers one glorious time, a little while after they first started their relationship, when the other was at his healthiest weight. He remembers the sweet, tender flesh of his sides and waist, thighs soft, and his ass frankly fantastic; not chubby at all, but supple and insulated, no longer shivering at every subtle dip in temperature. It was enthralling, arousing, and yet the beautiful boy hated himself for "slipping", for "tainting himself"; his weight plummeted yet again after that.

Even though the feeling of too-prominent ribs scared him, he treasured every touch he gave his sweet porcelain boy; so fragile and yet so beautiful, the side that only he is allowed to see.

The thought both enticed him and sickened him.

He knew the one that fed the desire, too; the one who poured the poison into the boy's ear. He knows of the bruises, the cuts, the scathing words and the pressure. It took every ounce of self-control not to tear into the man's throat at the Ouran Fair; seeing his beloved's head snap unnaturally to the side, cheek red and bruising, falling to the floor after his glasses.

He heard that gasp - the uneven breathing - but he couldn't do anything. He could only let the boy curl up with him in the Dark Magic Club's back room, door locked, kisses and whispered words of empty comfort; trying to fix such a broken situation, with disgustingly hollow words.

Because he knows that his love, his boyfriend, isn't ok. He just wants him to be.

He knows of the fear of imperfection, the thing that drives the boy so unhealthily, so strongly. He knows that, if even a single mark is missed on that "easy" test, he'll find his sweet, dark angel in the bathroom as soon as he is excused, throwing up bile and what little he permitted passed his lips.

He wants him to be ok, because he's his Kyou; like he's Kyouya's Umie. But, for now, empty words of comfort and soft kisses will have to do.


	2. Spider Silk

Any other day, any other time, any other situation; it would have been heaven.

He sat elegantly on Umehito's lap, the older boy stroking his hair. The curtains were drawn, so Umehito's cloak and wig lay discarded on the armchair opposite, the candle light just bright enough to see the encouraging, soft expression on the blond's face.

"It's ok," Umehito soothed, "Just a few bites."

The sandwich looked innocent, but Kyouya knew otherwise. The bread was pure carbohydrate, the cheese pure fat; even the tomato had sugar. He had to stay pure and thin, he couldn't allow himself to slip, to become fat and disgusting.

"I'm not hungry," He waved away, nuzzling the crook of Umehito's neck, "Let's just cuddle a little while longer."

Umehito thought absently about how much Kyouya was like a cat, craving affection when it suited him; hell, he was practically purring as he ran his fingers through brittle black hair. Kyouya loved him, he knew that, but it was hard to be in a secret relationship, for both of them.

"A little while, but then you have to eat," He nodded, "You can take as much time as you need, but you need to do as I ask."

"But I'm so close to perfect..."

The whisper seemed to echo around the room, the atmosphere thick, and the blond had to bite back the pure sadness the word caused him. "Perfect", the poison Kyouya's father chose again and again.

"I want to be like spider silk."

That, however, was new. He knew Kyouya was whimsical with his thoughts, occasionally his words, but Umehito couldn't figure out what he meant.

"What is spider silk like?" He asked, hoping that the raven haired boy would explain. Sometimes, Kyouya just didn't realise that other people didn't quite make the connections he did.

"Thin, beautiful," Kyouya began, lips moving against his neck, "Strong; it's five times stronger than steel, quantitatively speaking. It's all there for me when I'm perfect, I know it."

One of these days, he's going to give Ootori Yoshio a piece of his mind, and a curse for good measure. Just stay thin, smart and hard-working and the world is his - maybe true, in some way, but the manner in which it was enforced was sickening.

"You fainted today," He sighed, "That's why you need to eat. You're too skinny, my dearest."

"Who told you?" Kyouya's grip tightened on his shirt, nuzzling closer, as if he could just hide from the world if he was close enough.

"Suoh, after I scared the life out of him," He chuckled, trying to make the situation lighter than it was, "He's concerned, as are the rest of your friends, and you know I am."

Kyouya just hummed, but let his grip soften. "I... I don't..." He trailed off.

"You don't have to be... like spider silk, or to put your life at risk for your father's twisted idea of perception," He informed, "You aren't the King Hamlet to his Claudius, I don't like him saying those things to you."

"Poison poured in my ear..." Kyouya murmured, a slight chuckle to the edge of his words - bitter and disbelieving, "Good reference, at least."

"Kyouya... Please..." He began, but the words faded as he saw his boyfriend's shoulders shaking, tears starting to dampen his neck as the proverbial dam broke.

"I see what you see," Kyouya stated, voice thick and shaking as he desperately tried to control it, "I can see my bones, but I can't stop because I have to be perfect."

Umehito gently nudged Kyouya away from him, gently stroking a few out-of-place strands of hair away from his eyes, and holding his face with both hands. He was delicate, touches so soft and careful in case Kyouya would simply break from rougher treatment.

"Perfect isn't real," He sighed, "You could be healthy... Happy, instead... Just take a bite of the sandwich, it won't hurt you."

Kyouya sniffed, trying to steel himself as he give a small nod. He wanted to argue, but the look on his Umie's face was heartbreaking. He knew he was too skinny, but could he really just stop?

When the sandwich was handed to him, choking on breath, he took a bite.

Maybe... He could try.

He could always get rid of it later.


	3. Woollen Jumpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya and Umehito meet, and the young Nekozawa wonders if its weird to want to kiss a pretty boy.

Kyouya, for as long as he could remember, had a weak constitution.

He was a pale, thin little boy; so much thinner than the others in his class, who still had the last hints of puppy fat where he had the outline of his lower ribs. He was short, also, but his doctors told him it was because he couldn’t eat much. He was always suffering from summer colds and hay-fever, and influenza reared its ugly head in winter, only allowing him to huddle under his blankets while he coughed and hacked so hard he couldn’t breathe.

He wore large, baggy jumpers all year round to try and keep himself comfortable and warm; he likes the way he could pull the soft, colourful wool over his hands and over his knees and legs. If he wore turtlenecks, he could also cover his lips and nose to keep them warm – even if it was a little awkward with the surgical masks his oldest brother made his wear when winter came again.

In short, the youngest Ootori was a delicate boy who rarely left home, other than to attend school when able, and to play with a few of his father’s client’s children. His sister doted on him, but he still felt lonely.

That was when Yoshio Ootori decided to approach another wealthy family for a partnership; the family of another delicate boy, Umehito Nekozawa.

* * *

Umehito sat patiently in the chair opposite his father, Belzenoff held tightly as he watched him organise his paperwork.

“Yoshio is bringing a new friend for you to play with, Umehito,” His father smiled, “He has a son who’s a year younger than you. He goes to a different school, so you haven’t met him yet, but you’re both going to go to Ouran together, eventually. Make sure you get on with him, it’s important that you have fun together.”

“Yes, daddy,” He grinned, tucking the puppet under his arm so he could adjust his wig and cloak.

“Try not to scare him, also,” His father added, to which he nodded more hesitantly. It wasn’t his fault he scared the other kids…

The knock on the door was uniform; the times in succession, loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to be brazen.

“A perfectionist, even in his knocking,” Nekozawa-san muttered under his breath, “Come in.”

A tall, thin man opened the door, his suit perfectly pressed and hair neat; the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose hid his eyes as they caught the light. Something about this man… scared him.

“Kyouya, come here and say hello,” The man commanded, tone even colder and harsher than Umehito expected.

That was when a little boy poked his head, shyly, around the doorframe. His hair was also neatly brushed out of his large, dark eyes; his expression nervous but also… curious. A large, baggy jumper hung off the boy’s small frame, light blue sleeves covering his hands.

All in all… He was cute. Very cute.

The small boy took a few cautious steps into the room, before trotting to his father’s side.

“Introduce yourself,” Yoshio prompted.

“H-hello Nekozawa-san; my name is Ootori Kyouya, thank you for inviting me,” The small boy, Kyouya, smiled.

Umehito heart beat a little faster when he saw that smile, and he frowned to himself. Why did that happen? He wasn’t nervous, but… Something like it? He was very confused. Kyouya was really pretty… Could boys be pretty?

“My apologies that he isn’t suitably dressed,” Yoshio sighed, “He gets cold far too easily, and has a delicate constitution; I couldn’t quite convince him to change.”

“I understand completely, no need to worry,” Nekozawa-san reassured.

What was wrong with what Kyouya was wearing? It was cute and comfortable, wasn’t it? It made him look even prettier, anyway…

“Umehito?”

Was it weird for a boy to think another boy’s pretty…?

“Umie?”

He startled out of his thoughts at the sound of his father’s voice, eyes snapping up to meet his.

“Anyone there?” His father chuckled, “Come and introduce yourself.”

He pushed himself off the office chair, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, and stood straight as he walked over to the two Ootori’s – just like he’d been taught. “My name is Nekozawa Umehito,” He bowed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Kyouya’s eyes widened slightly when he saw the cloak-clad boy, brow furrowing and head tilting to the side. The other boy was so… unusual. He was interesting. It’d been so long since Kyouya had spoken to anyone interesting; he wasn’t allowed to talk to the maids, and the children in his class were boring and stupid.

“Why don’t you boys go and play upstairs,” Nekozawa-san offered, his smile a little uncertain, “I’m sure that would be more fun than listening to grown-ups talk about boring things.”

Kyouya opened his mouth, Ootori-san shot him a look, and the small, pink-lipped mouth closed with an audible snap. The boy nodded, silent and with down-cast eyes.

Umehito felt bad. Did Kyouya want to stay with his father and listen to their business-talk?

He took the younger boy’s small and smiled. “It’s ok, I promise we’ll have fun too,” He enthused, “My bedroom’s this way.”

Kyouya let him lead him through the house, up the stairs, and to a small, secluded room at the end of the hall on the highest floor; one without any windows, at that. The walls were dark and the only source of light was a few lit candles scattered around the room. It looked like an illustration out of the occult book Kyouya read in his father’s office without his knowledge… Somewhere they would prepare human sacrifices…

But he wasn’t afraid. Nekozawa-senpai didn’t seem like the type of person to tear out someone’s entrails in some grandiose ceremony; he was only a year older than him, as well.

Also… There was something about him… Kyouya couldn’t quite tell what it was. After all, he never believed what was written in that stolen book, and neither did his father; after all, he slept more often than not after he ate, and he’d never turned into a cow, like the old superstition went.

“Come in,” The boy in question beamed, almost skipping through the door, “You aren’t afraid of the dark, are you?”

Kyouya shook his head, stepping into the dimly lit room and closing the door behind him. “No, I like the dark,” He stated. The dark helped when he had headaches, after all.

He sat on the floor in front of Umehito, gazing up at the taller boy, his head tilted a little to the side, questioning. It was a heavy cloak, surely? Why did he feel the need to wear it?

He watched, almost spell-bound, as his senior and friendship candidate removed the cloak, revealing a royal blue boy’s suit with shorts and a dark shirt; a black cross-tie at his neck and matching high socks. When Nekozawa-senpai removed his black wig, Kyouya’s large eyes widened even further. “Beautiful…” The young Ootori breathed.

Nekozawa-senpai was the picture of a boy with royal blood; his blond hair was barely mussed, his features were fine and well-structured, and – while not being chubby – he definitely had a nourished, well-fed appearance.

He then looked at himself. He had dry, ugly black hair that got frizzy when humid and was darker than the rest of his family’s, eyes that were too dark and too big for his face, and the appearance of a starving orphan. He wasn’t even well-dressed; his jumper was huge on him, making him look even smaller, and his baggy, too short jeans had grass stains from when Fuyumi took him out into the garden the day before.

They looked like a prince and a pauper, although nothing alike. His father was right; he was awfully underdressed…

“Kyouya-kun?” Nekozawa-senpai inquired, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” He insisted, a slightly forced smile on his lips, “What would you like to play?”

* * *

“So… Is it weird?” Umehito asked his father, after confessing what he thought about Kyouya. How his heart fluttered when the little boy smiled, how he wanted to make him happy all the time, how pretty Kyouya looked and how soft his hand was; everything.

“Oh, Umie! You’re first crush!” His mother gushed, her accent still distinctly Russian despite living in Japan for years, “Isn’t that just adorable!”

“So it isn’t bad, mama?” He inquired shyly.

“Some people think it is,” His father cautioned, “But between you and me… I think they’re stupid.”

He laughed in both shock and delight. His father never called people stupid, and said it wasn’t nice to do, so those people must have been dumb. “Ok!” He chirped, “I… Should I tell him?”

“I’m afraid, Котёнок, that you’ll have to work that one out for yourself,” His mother smiled.

“I’ll do it.”

* * *

Kyouya was doing research; books stacked on the coffee table in his room, his legs wrapped in his quilt and snuggling into a garish yellow turtleneck that his half-blind grandmother bought him for his birthday. It was warm and comfortable as he sipped the tea one of the maids bought him, sifting through the resource material he gathered; in other words, Fuyumi’s Yaoi manga.

He needed to know how to confess to a boy, but all these men just ended up grabbing and kissing each other. Surely it wasn’t that… base? That simple? And in some books, they went on to do weird things that Kyouya… didn’t really think he should see at his age.

He gave up on the same-sex confessions, deeming them inappropriate examples, and moved on to straight couples instead, from her Shoujo collection. The girls usually had hand-written, sappy letters, or asked their love to meet them in a secluded place to tell them essentially the same type of thing.

He could do this.

So, Kyouya took some of Fuyumi’s pink paper, an envelope and some heart stickers from her room, and clicked his pen three times before turning to the paper, beginning to write.

* * *

Holding the envelope in his hands, on his fifth visit to the Nekozawa estate, Kyouya swallowed uncomfortably as he pulled the red jumper sleeves over his hands. He should have worn something nicer… He had dress-trousers on, at least; but Umehito always dressed so perfectly.

But he was so cold today. Like what little heat he usually had fled him.

Or just stuck in his cheeks, maybe.

“What’s that?” Yoshio asked, voice as cold as ever.

“Business,” Kyouya stated, monotone and unfeeling.

“Why is the envelope pink and covered in hearts?” Yoshio countered.

“It was the only Fuyumi had,” He answered, voice still blank.

“You could have asked someone else for an envelope, rather than choosing to use that embarrassing thing.” A lecture. Little feeling. He was so cold. He was shivering.

He just hummed.

“Kyo-chan!” Umie-chan called, smile heating his cheeks further.

_Nothing my father says matters right now._

* * *

As soon as they reached Umehito’s bedroom, the smaller boy thrusted the envelope under the blond’s nose.

It was garish, and pink, and covered in far too many colourful stickers, but he felt his heart beat faster in that way again. He still hadn’t told Kyouya that he was pretty, that he was fun to play with, the way his heart beat changed; he hadn’t told him anything, but it seemed Kyouya wanted to say something… albeit written.

So he opened the letter.

**Dear Umie-chan,**

**Love love! Ever since I first saw you, my heart has been going super love love! As if it were eternal cyclones and never-changing typhoons, my heart is swirling with the winds of LOVE!**

**I hope you can return my feelings, even if I’m a boy!**

**Kyo-chan** **♡**

Umehito stared, uncertain of what to do. This was… Kyouya’s confession?

He was a sweet, cute boy… But not in this way. Was it some sort of joke?

“That was the basic idea, I think,” The raven-haired boy muttered, “That’s what was in Fuyumi-chan’s manga, anyway. I-I’m not sure I did it right, but I did it and that’s what matters!”

Then, Umehito laughed.

“It’s perfect!” The blond grinned, touched that the smaller boy tried so hard to do something for him, “I love you too, Kyo-chan!”

Umehito pecked Kyouya on the lips, the other smiling broadly. It was so warm all of a sudden, so nice.

Yeah, this was perfect.

* * *

Years later, on the fourteenth of February, Haruhi handed him a package.

“It has your name of it,” She informed, pointing to the garish pink envelope with too many heart stickers, inscribed with the name ‘Kyo-chan’, “I didn’t think anyone other than Hani called you that…”

“I do know people outside of this club, Haruhi,” He drawled, eyes fixed on the package as he took it.

He opened the card, and burst out laughing.

**Dear Kyo-chan,**

**Your skin is as pale and perfect as a wax doll, your hair as beautifully dark as the comforting shadows in my soul, your jumpers… very adorable, and a little dorky XP**

**Umie-chan**

He opened the package to find something he really should have expected; a black jumper that was three times his size, covered in patchwork hearts.

_“Is there any colour of jumper you don’t have?”_

_“I don’t think so, I have so many!”_

_I’ve never had one like this, though…_

“It’s perfect.”


End file.
